


the brave in us

by KelseyO



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Gen, alternatively titled 'in which they Do Not Kiss', i just had a lot of feelings about episode 22 okay, post-22, protect episode 22 at all costs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura eyes the medical supplies laid out in front of her keyboard, and it’s only once she decides there’s no easy way Carmilla could kill her with a few bandages that she turns her chair toward Carmilla’s waiting hands.</p><p>Carmilla wastes no time before gently moving Laura’s ponytail out of the way—Laura shivers a little, because the last time Carmilla did this, there was champagne involved—then leaning forward and dabbing the cotton against Laura’s puncture wounds.</p><p>The liquid is cold and Carmilla’s teeth are right there and the hot breath on her cheek is kind of making it hard to suck in her own oxygen, but the touches against her neck are so careful and precise, and she’s just very… confused.</p><p>“What are you—?”</p><p>“Stop talking,” Carmilla murmurs and continues her work without batting an eyelash.</p><p>(Post-22. Title from "Faded" by Barcelona.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the brave in us

**Author's Note:**

> Emotionally beta'd by Amanda and Molly. (No but like HOW GREAT WAS EPISODE 22?)

Carmilla isn’t in the bathroom nearly long enough for her to have effectively removed her hair from the shower drain, so unless she has some sort of superhuman ability she could use to speed up the process… but would she even bother? They’ve lived together for weeks without her so much as breathing in the general direction of a dirty dish, so she wouldn’t bet fifty cents on Carmilla somehow intimidating her mess out of the plumbing—

Laura shakes her head and gives her temple a few hard taps with the wooden spoon; she has an exam to study for, dammit, and a time crunch that definitely doesn’t permit wild guesses about how Carmilla would theoretically clean their bathroom, and she should also probably stop tracking Carmilla’s movements in her peripheral vision. But can anyone really fault her for being on high-alert after her vampire roommate bit her?

(Because she’s a _vampire_?)

She’s been processing the information for days but the words still don’t seem real—which is sort of frustrating, given that between the blood and weird sleeping habits and super-strength and ability to set things on fire with just her eyes, what the hell else did she expect?—and now that Carmilla’s un-captured and they’re back to being roommates, albeit with one extra big, fat piece of information between them… maybe it’s time she double-checked the Silas student handbook for any policies about proper procedure for when the Dean is trying to use her (apparently unwilling?) vampire spawn to eat you.

“Turn to face me,” Carmilla instructs, abruptly taking a seat next to Laura and setting a large box on the desk, which she immediately recognizes as the comprehensive first-aid kit her dad brought her during Parents’ Weekend.

Laura blinks as Carmilla toggles the half-a-dozen latches arranged around the edge of the case and props it open, then pulls out disinfectant, a patch of gauze, and some medical tape.

“While it’s true that immortal beings such as myself tend to be superior on the intelligence scale, we both know you can understand and obey simple commands.” Carmilla takes a cotton ball and soaks it with disinfectant, then looks at Laura expectantly. “Now rotate.”

Laura eyes the medical supplies laid out in front of her keyboard, and it’s only once she decides there’s no easy way Carmilla could kill her with a few bandages that she turns her chair toward Carmilla’s waiting hands.

Carmilla wastes no time before gently moving Laura’s ponytail out of the way—Laura shivers a little, because the last time Carmilla did this, there was champagne involved—then leaning forward and dabbing the cotton against Laura’s puncture wounds.

The liquid is cold and Carmilla’s teeth are _right there_ and the hot breath on her cheek is kind of making it hard to suck in her own oxygen, but the touches against her neck are so careful and precise, and she’s just very… confused.

“What are you—?”

“Stop talking,” Carmilla murmurs and continues her work without batting an eyelash.

Laura thinks of the way Carmilla looked at her after Will left, thinks of the way Carmilla’s body all but slammed into hers, the way she seized absolute physical control in a matter of nanoseconds. “But why are you—?”

“Stop talking,” Carmilla repeats, tossing the now red-tinted cotton ball into the trash and reaching for the gauze. She lays it delicately over the marks, then takes Laura’s hand and places her fingers against the gauze. “Hold that,” she says, both her tone and facial expression bored as ever even as she takes the medical tape and seals the edges of the gauze to Laura’s skin, never once pinching or pressing too hard or earning so much as a twitch of discomfort from Laura in the process.

When she’s done she puts the leftover supplies back into the case, closes and locks it, then shoves it back under Laura’s bed without another word.

“So you’ll spend several minutes playing doctor, but you refuse to channel your inner Mr. Clean for the whole thirty seconds it would take you to clean out that stupid drain?”

Carmilla sighs as she curls up on her bed and pulls out a book. “This may not be 19th Century Europe,” she says to the pages in front of her, “but I’ve seen what carelessness can do to a bite, and I’m not about to kill you by accident.” She flips to the next page. “Also, if you would take even the smallest break from pretending to work on that study guide, you’d see that I’ve restored your precious shower drain to its former, slightly less-disgusting glory.”

Laura glances toward the bathroom door, as if she’d be able to get a visual confirmation from where she’s sitting, and tilts her head thoughtfully. “Thank you,” she replies, not bothering to hide the pleasant surprise from her tone, because Carmilla might as well get a taste of what roommate life could be like if she would just _cooperate_ —

“I’m sorry,” Carmilla says softly, still hiding all potential facial expressions behind her book. “I did what I had to do, for both our sakes, but I _am_ sorry.”

Laura rotates her chair a fraction to face Carmilla again. “What do you think is going to happen?”

Carmilla shrugs. “It’s difficult to know for sure.”

“Ballpark guess.”

There’s a sigh from behind Carmilla’s book. “We figure out how I’m going to explain my protecting you to Mama; something with even the barest hints of logic, the smallest modicum of rationality….”

“Why _did_ you protect me?” Laura interrupts and watches Carmilla’s knuckles tighten against the book’s spine. “Why have you _been_ protecting me?”

Carmilla doesn’t answer right away. “Like I said, cutie. It’s difficult to know for sure.”

Laura touches her fingertips to her bandage one more time. “Do you call _all_ of your targets pet names?”

“Do you ask _all_ of your roommates so many questions?”

“Only the ones who are vampires whose mother wants to eat me.”

Carmilla doesn’t respond and her eyes remain hidden by whatever philosophies she’s reading about these days, and Laura turns back to her computer.

“No,” Carmilla says suddenly, quietly.

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t call them all pet names.”

Laura tightens her grip on the spoon’s handle. “What did you call Elle?” she finds herself asking. “Sweetheart? Sugarplum?”

There’s a long silence before Carmilla speaks again. “Mine,” she says so quietly that Laura almost assumes she’s talking to herself, “I called her _mine_.”

Laura swallows hard. “That’s… really sweet,” she manages, and though her voice shakes just a little, she still means it.

“Is it?” Carmilla replies, trying to sound bored again, but Laura knows better.

“I’m really sorry about—you know. Everything that happened between you two. Well, maybe not the happy parts, but definitely…” Laura sighs. “The way things ended.” She twirls the spoon between her fingers for a moment before tapping it against the side of her thigh. “And I mean, I know it’s scary to learn that someone’s a vampire, and I imagine your mother broke the news to her as horrifically as possible, but I still can’t—I would never—” She’s actually not quite sure where she was going with that sentence (though the sudden tension in her chest says otherwise) so she clears her throat and looks determinedly at her notes. “Anyways. _Beowulf_.”

“ _And if death does take me_ ,” Carmilla murmurs from her bed, “ _send the hammered mail of my armor to Higlac, return the inheritance I had from Hrethel, and he from Wayland. Fate will unwind as it must_.”

Laura turns to stare at her. “You have _Beowulf_ memorized?”

She shrugs. “Just selections,” she says, then tilts her book down to meet Laura’s gaze with a bored cock of her eyebrow. “I’ve had time.” She raises the book again only to lower it once more after a few moments. “Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is no.”

“Okay, but to be fair, having a vampire for a roommate hasn’t exactly been conducive to studying. The least you could do is help me with this one test.”

“Yes, because I _forced_ you to hold me hostage for two weeks,” Carmilla retorts.

Laura rolls her chair a few inches closer to Carmilla and arranges her expression into the most pitiful begging face she knows. “Pleeeeease?” she all but whines.

She counts five beats before Carmilla tosses her book aside with a huff and roll of her eyes. “First of all,” she grumbles, “close Wikipedia,” and rises from her bed to take away Laura’s cookies and soda.

“What makes you think I’m on Wikipedia?” Laura asks defensively as she scowls at the now junk food-less desk in front of her.

“Close Wikipedia,” Carmilla repeats, her voice right next to Laura’s ear all of a sudden, and Laura jumps and gets rid of the tab as her cheeks burn red. “Attagirl.”

Laura leans back a few inches as Carmilla leans across her to take control of the keyboard, and the close proximity makes her swallow hard. “You know, for someone who acts like a broody loner, you really have no concept of personal space,” she says, absentmindedly reaching up to scratch at one of the strips of medical tape.

Carmilla swats her hand away. “It won’t stay sterile if you keep messing with it.”

“But there’s just this one spot,” Laura argues, reaching up again, and this time Carmilla takes her hand in midair and holds it against the desk, clicking her tongue in disapproval a few times as her eyes scan the information on the screen. Laura glances from their hands to Carmilla and back again, but after several seconds she still hasn’t let go. “Okay, okay, I won’t touch it again.” Carmilla ignores her. “Pinky-swear?”

“How about a blood oath?”

Laura’s eyes widen until she sees the corner of Carmilla’s mouth curling into the tiniest smirk. “That’s not funny.”

Carmilla holds up her hands innocently— _both_ of them, and Laura definitely isn’t a little jarred by the loss of contact, no, not at all—but then manages to shift even closer as she opens the blank Word document Laura’s had open for approximately seven years and begins to type.

Laura stares at the words spilling onto the screen, and by the time Carmilla’s neatly structured outline hits the second page, her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “I asked for your help, not for you to write the entire study guide for me.”

Carmilla just shrugs. “Potato, po-tah-to.”


End file.
